Eratosphere - LitRev 'Excerpt from an Epic' results. **A win for Martin!**

Only three poems rather than the usual four this month, but many congratulations to Martin for bagging 2nd prize! :D

(Next comp on new thread)

Jayne

Poetry Competition results

Report by Literary Review Deputy Editor Tom Fleming

This month’s competition was to present an excerpt from an epic or mock epic that somehow featured a trip to the shops. Bill Webster wins the first prize of £300, generously sponsored by the Mail on Sunday. Martin Parker’s delightful entry wins him the second prize of £150, while J R Gillie wins £10. Last month I wrote that the first prize was £150. That was a mistake, of course; the prize was £300 and will, with luck, continue to remain so.

First Prize

Pitch battle by Bill Webster

The gods of retail here for war arrayed
Had colours, scutcheons, mottoes all displayed.
In combat, first rose Asda, matchless queen,
Dread Walmart’s daughter, ever decked in green.
Her battle-cry, flung high above the fray,
Was ‘We will save you money every day.’
Confronting her stood Tesco, lined of mien,
So long triumphant on this warring scene.
‘Forbear,’ he roared, ‘from these unmeaning yelps,
And know the truth, that every little helps.’
Meanwhile, far, far beneath this aery clash
Lost mortals havered where to spend their cash.
For downward though the war-songs were relayed,
Their message was but raggedly conveyed.
(‘Tis oft the consequence of clamorous sound
That words so voiced are by their own noise drowned.)
But even as the mortals stood dismayed,
Uncertain where was best to take their trade,
Two lesser gods, of elvish ways and size,
Descried their chance to show true enterprise.
As jackals feed where lions have downed their prey,
So Lidl now and Aldi had their day.
For shoppers left to exercise free will
Found lowly stores could mean a lower bill.

Second Prize

from The Epic of Sir Greasy Spoon by Martin Parker

When Gastro-Pub The Ghastly
With henchmen Foam and Jus
Had poured foul scorn o’er all the best
Old England’s cooks could do
One valiant knight swore solemnly
That ‘ere the next full moon
He’d cook the vile intruder’s goose –
It was Sir Greasy Spoon…

They met inside 'Pour La Cuisine',
A shop just south of Harlech,
Where Gastro-Pub had armed himself
With bain-marie and garlic,
While England’s Pride had donned a helm –
The best to cut the mustard –
Of armour-plated suet crust
And cloak of luke-warm custard…

Sir Greasy Spoon escaped with wounds
Inflicted by aioli.
But Gastro-Pub The Ghastly died
Pierced through by roly-poly.
And, ever since, across our land
Proud folk delight to say
How Gastro-Pub The Ghastly met
His early-closing day.

Dante’s in Tesco by J R Gillie

How in a few, short lines can I convey
The chill, blank horror of that haunted sphere?
The Poet at my side, I forged my way

Across the car park, treeless, dank and drear.
The cars lay dumb or crawled in sluggish file;
And every driver’s face was marked with fear.

Muffins I sought, my Beatrice to beguile –
A gift to spirit to her moonlit door!
Could sweetness dwell within a fane so vile?

‘Yeah, yeah,’ quoth Virgil as with muffled roar
An icy breath about us, entering, spread.
The portal gaped; we chanced the slicing door

And there beheld the shoals of living dead
Condemned to ply the gaudy, freighted rows
With tiny carts, in search of milk or bread.

‘There y’go,’ quoth Virgil. ‘Would she fancy those?’
‘Pop Tarts!’ I cried, ‘I yearn for something airier,
Something as light and fragrant as a rose.’

He chose some waffles. Paying was still scarier;
For I became (how, Virgil only knows)
An unexpected item in the bagging area.